


Interlaced

by winternacht



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Corsetry, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mental Link, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 04:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20700314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winternacht/pseuds/winternacht
Summary: A different power has started invading Jon's dreams. Elias knows how to remedy the situation.





	Interlaced

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kink meme: https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=80484#cmt80484
> 
> Credit for the idea of this particular use of cassette tape goes to Spacehopper. Thank you!

Observing and experiencing. Where Beholding can’t reach, the Archivist is bound to explore – the inescapable maze of the Spiral, the lightless corners of the Dark, the deepest recesses of the Buried. Any time Jon crosses that threshold between worlds, Elias can feel that odd _tug_, leaving behind a burning ache as he tries to hold onto a rope that thins to cassette tape in his grasp. And every time, he’s left breathless with excitement and dread alike, Orsinov’s razor voice in his ear, _He__’s mine now, and you’re never getting him back. _He waits for their connection to snap, waits for Jon to return not unscathed but stronger, closer to achieving his full potential with every scar that marks his body, surprising Elias only in how he surpasses his boldest expectations.

But lately, he’s been feeling that tug at other times. Usually in the middle of the night but not always, and when he checks, he finds Jon sound asleep, entranced, as he should have been, with his collection of nightmares. But there’s a pull in a different direction, a single strand of the rope leading far away, to where his Archivist’s rib lies trapped within the Bone Turner’s body.

It comes as no surprise to Elias that Jon wakes from these dreams weak, feeling a hunger that he could never satisfy because he does not have the Flesh’s powers at his disposal. There is no pleasure in watching him starve for the turn and twist of human bones.

After three weeks of restless nights, Jon tries to seek him out. Elias can feel the rush of power as Jon debates using his powers to make his way past the guards, finds himself all too eager to witness his Archivist giving in to that impulse. But in the end, Jon leaves, losing the argument once again to self-imposed loyalty to his assistants. Yet another pull in a different direction. Still, Elias has no intention of letting him go, of allowing the Flesh to poison his mind any longer.

*

Elias tells the guard to let Jon in, just this once. How could he not grant Jon this visit, after he stormed out of his office, not even bothering to take off the corset he’d put on after hours of deliberation. Elias watched him close the busks one by one with a growing sense of anticipation showing on his face, as if every snap of metal brought him closer to revelation. And when it didn’t come, Jon’s face twisted with anger and frustration, so briefly, then settled into determination. Still, he took his time to smooth his shirt over the garment. Hid beneath a rumpled sweater as well.

But even if he hadn’t watched, Elias would have been able to tell. Jon’s gait is stiff and awkward as he forces himself into a posture that wouldn’t reveal any outlines beneath his jumper. His arms barely extend when he hands over his personal items, and for a moment, doubt crosses his features. This time, however, he does not turn away, even though such tension radiates from his body that Elias can feel it resonate within himself. But he makes no attempt to get closer or even rise when Jon enters with a scowl, simply remaining seated on the edge of the bed. Leaving Jon no choice but to approach, reluctant as he is. Still unable to resist being reeled in, conflict warring in his eyes, the hostility on his face slowly draining away. He comes to a stand just a step away from Elias, so still that he might as well have stopped breathing.

His Archivist. So different from the last time he saw him, lying lifeless in his hospital bed, his mind trapped in denial of the choice he had to make. Now his eyes are alive with hunger, this need for knowledge, and Elias wants nothing more than to lose himself in his gaze, let Jon unravel him beneath their Master’s watchful eye. And he can feel that Jon wants this, too; his entire stance has changed, his upper body leaning forward, shoulders straightening, lips parting.

As Elias stands, Jon’s eyes track his every movement, his pupils blown wide, and then Elias feels a pull. Jon’s powers hook deep into the core of his being, drawing him in on every level, forcing him closer, into his space, into his mind, into-

But then Jon lets go. The entire force seems to drain from his body, and he sways lightly on his feet, arms swinging limply with the movement. But before Elias can catch him, the frown returns to Jon’s face, a layer of protection. As if he could shield his emotions from Elias. As if they weren’t filling the room, suffusing the very air Elias drew into his lungs, leaving a bittersweet taste on his tongue. Jon’s misery at stopping. Elias’ pride in Jon’s self-control.

“I hope you have a good reason for… for this.” Jon finally says and indicates his torso with a sharp motion.

Elias smiles. “Of course. Unless you still require instructions?”

I don’t,” Jon replies through clenched teeth. “It’s just that… that…”

“You should trust your skills more, Jon.”

Jon gives a hollow laugh. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have the Flesh trying to invade your mind.”

“I’m sure a statement would help.”

Jon scoffs. “I’ve read more than enough-“

“You know that’s not what I mean, Jon.”

Jon sighs. “I know.” He glances aside, briefly, lips thinning into a line. And when he looks back at Elias, it’s with such a look of desperate longing that Elias can feel the air crackle between them.

“Then why do you keep fighting it?”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because…” He averts his gaze and crosses his arms, almost as if defiant, but Elias watches one of his fists curl at his side. Memories of a scene he only witnessed through tape flood his mind. The exquisite pain of a firm hand reaching into his Archivist, the way his flesh allowed the intrusion and his bones yielded to the Bone Turner’s command. Somewhere, far away, he can feel Jon’s rib shivering deep within Jared Hopworth’s body.

Elias takes a step closer towards Jon. Lifts a hand to tip up his chin, smiling as Jon follows along so easily. “You never have to explain yourself to me, Jon. Because I already know.”

Jon shivers, and then Elias feels it again, Jon reaching out to him, not trying to pull knowledge from him but lingering at the edges of his mind, ready to accept what Elias has to offer. His presence feels as natural as the warmth of the sun on his skin.

“Later Jon, I promise,” he murmurs softly, brushing his thumb over Jon’s bottom lip. “There are a few things that need to be taken care of first.”

When Jon draws back, the stubborn glare has returned to his face, such a contrast to the lovely flush that has spread across his cheek. “Fine, “ he says. “What is it?”

“First, you will need to take off the corset.”

“I- fine.”

He turns to the side, trying to be discreet as he takes off his jumper first. His fingers toy with the buttons of his shirt, like he’s not sure whether to open them or not. In the end, he rucks it up inelegantly, just enough to be able to unhook the busks with ease. Then he pulls off the corset in a swift motion and holds it out to Elias while pulling his shirt down again with his free hand. “Here.”

“Thank you.” The material feels warm in his hands.

Elias spreads it out on the small desk that already had one of the tape recorders that have been manifesting in his vicinity sitting on it. He smooths out the ink black satin and begins to take out the lace the corset came with. Jon hadn’t even bothered untying it when he put it on. Then he retrieves a cassette from the tape recorder, hooks the tips of his thumbs into the ridges at the edge and pulls it open. Jon gasps in quiet indignation.

“It’s empty,” Elias comments.

He removes the tape from the roller and begins to unwind it, measuring its length against the ribbon he had taken out. Elias glances to his side, taking in Jon’s look of apprehension as he prepares to snap the tape. But Jon doesn’t say anything as Elias follows through. He simply continues to watch, his gaze following Elias’ hands as they carefully relace the corset.

“Put it on, please,” Elias says. “It will hold,” he adds when Jon raises his eyebrow.

“Could you just turn around, then?”

Elias does. Simply listens to the rustle of fabric, to the little annoyed sounds Jon makes. The heavy sigh before he says, “I need your help.”

“Of course, Jon,” Elias says and turns.

The moment Elias takes to simply appreciate the sight is nothing but an indulgence. The image of Jon bracing himself against the desk with uncomfortably stiff looking arms, face hidden in the crook of his shoulder, his upper back exposed above a shiny, tangled mess of cassette tape at the center, drawing the eye to his waist, highlighting the sacrifice his Archivist has made. The light dances across the fine material as Jon takes deep breaths. Elias steps forward and grasps the upper edge of the corset to adjust it, enjoying the little shiver that goes through Jon’s body when his fingers brush against his bare skin. Then he loosens the knot Jon attempted, gathers the cassette tape up and tightens it gently, enough for the corset to stay in place.

For a couple of seconds, he simply relishes the anticipation, the tension that grows ever thicker between them as their surroundings dull and everything that’s Jon sharpens — the thinnest scars visible on his shoulders, the sound of his breathing as he tries to keep himself calm, the movement of his shoulder blades beneath his skin. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale-

With a swift motion, Elias tightens the strings, and Jon gasps so beautifully, just the briefest snatch of a word escaping him before Elias shushes him, winds the thin material around his fingers, pulling and adjusting. Squeezing his rib cage together in a way that should be enough to slake the Flesh’s invasive desire for shaping bones. Every fiber of Jon’s body goes tense, his hands scrambling up the desk as he balances on the balls of his feet, leaving Elias to draw him back with another swift motion, muscles tight with effort, the tape cutting into his own skin sharply as he ties it into a neat bow.

“That’s… that’s too much, don’t you think?” Jon asks, a sharp note of annoyance in his otherwise thin voice. He tries to turn around, but Elias puts a hand between his shoulder blades, gently pressing down so he can feel Jon straining with the effort to force air into his lungs, his shoulders twitching in that uncomfortable, new position. Slowly, Elias lets his fingers glide down the length of Jon’s back, passing over string wound tight, just to make sure everything is in place.

“It’s perfect,” Elias says, relishing the little sound of Jon’s breath catching in response. His hand finds Jon’s constricted waist, giving it a light squeeze where his bottom ribs used to be. “After getting out of — how did Peter call it — _Too Close I Cannot Breathe, _this should hardly be a challenge for you.”

Jon slaps his hand over Elias', igniting his skin with a sting of pleasant heat, an echo of molten wax. “Well… You’re done now, so I can just… ” His fingers curl, like he wants to grab and pull Elias' hand away, but he simply holds on. Memories of nearly getting lost in the coffin rush through Jon’s mind, and for a moment, Elias can feel it too, the iron-tightness around his lungs, the breath he exhales turning to sand in his mouth, the relentless despair-

Jon’s grip around Elias’ hand tightens, and Elias presses himself against Jon’s back, winds an arm around him, letting his hand rest on Jon’s quivering chest as he gasps for air. He holds Jon close as he relives the terror of his entombment, tastes the fear of it in the cold sweat at Jon’s temple. Partakes in the secret knowledge that should have never been brought back into the light and sighs with contentment.

Some of it must have flown into Jon, because his panic ebbs away. His heart calms, his breathing slows to match Elias'.

“What you did was very impressive, Jon,” he whispers into his hair, lightly tracing the intricate lace on the edge of the corset, his palm brushing against Jon’s nipples, all incidental to his movement. He feels them tightening and relishes Jon’s choked moan, all too happily upsetting the serenity that settled between them in a way that was his. “I always knew I made the right choice when I picked you.”

Jon draws in a sharp breath, and Elias’ chest shivers in response. “ This is what you want to give me a statement about?”

A yelp escapes him when Elias pinches nipple, followed by an aggrieved little noise when Elias lets up. Elias laughs in response, caressing heated skin with cool fingers.

“Yes,” he says, circling the tight nub with his index finger, just to tease Jon a little, to feel him writhe in his embrace.

“Tell me.”

Elias shudders against Jon, his body tingling with the force of his demand.

“Why don’t you ask more nicely?” he says, lowering his head to kiss Jon’s neck, to feel Jon’s pulse race beneath his lips

“Elias…” Elias can practically hear him rolling his eyes. He nips at his neck fondly.

“Go ahead, Jon,” Elias whispers, spreading the fingers on the hand still at Jon’s waist, letting him to intertwine their fingers.

There is a moment of utter silence before static fills Elias' head, fills his mind. Helpless, he digs his teeth into Jon’s shoulders, tightens his grip on Jon when the static doesn’t let up, when he tastes blood. And then it ends, leaving him with a satisfying afterglow despite his shaking legs barely holding him up.

“That was unexpected,” Elias says. “But lovely.” With lips and tongue, he soothes over the bitemark he left, just as Jon begins to speak, voice breathless.

“Statement of Elias Bouchard regarding a choice he made.”

He inhales, as if he has to steel himself, and Elias lets up just enough to allow him to turn in his arms. Taking a moment to admire his Archivist, his eyes alight and alive, the corners of his mouth upturned with satisfaction. Then Jon begins to speak.

_“How to choose an Archivist? While I do hope that I will be the last person to ask myself that question, I am hardly the first.”_

Elias listens intently as Jon continues, replaying the words he has pulled from the recesses of Elias’ mind, has made his own and now shares with their Master with perfect clarity. Not yielding to the distraction as Elias guides him towards the bed, even as a flush creeps up his cheeks.

He speaks of the hubris of Elias’ predecessors who fancied themselves the new Archivist, trying to obtain powers by title alone. He describes their struggles as they sought suitable candidates within all affiliated institutes and without.

As Jon peels away layers of secrecy, Elias removes the layers of fabric between them, leaving only the corset to separate them, nothing but thin cloth held together by string and steel. Jon allows to him indulge in physical intimacy where Elias has shared the intimacy of his memories. And it’s not long before Elias pushes up into Jon, just as Jon pushed into his mind before.

_“By all means-” _Jon says, but his voice breaks as he sinks fully down onto Elias’ cock, guided by Elias’ hands. And then he doesn’t say much anymore.

Elias is more than content to let Jon set the rhythm. Enjoys the experimental roll of his hips, the way his muscles tighten when Elias’ wandering hands slip over sensitive spots. From the raised scars on his thighs to the curve of his waist, all within reach and sight, beautiful to behold. Just as Jon’s expression, concentration and the loss of it when he takes Elias to the hilt, expression going slack and eyes fluttering shut. Letting the feeling linger before he raises himself up again, holding onto Elias’ forearms for balance.

All that Jon can muster to say is Elias’ name when Jon angles his body just right. A string of _please, please, please _when Elias holds Jon’s restless hips in place, thrusting up achingly slowly when Jon’s movements grow needy and erratic. With every moan and breathless whimper that spills past his lips, he begs for more.

And when Elias passes the reins back to him, their eyes finding one another, any semblance of restraint between them vanishes. Elias' fingers dig into Jon’s skin, providing the support Jon needs as he rides Elias’ cock with rough movements, the muscles of Jon’s thighs flexing in Elias’ hold. An irrational dance built on desperation and a burning need to connect, and still, they fall into a perfect rhythm, Elias meeting every thrust down, Jon’s body clenching around his throbbing cock when his hips lift. And there is nothing more Elias wants than to lose himself in Jon, in his gaze, in his mind that is set upon revealing all the secrets in the world.

Elias pulls him flush to his body when he comes, spilling deep inside him, a tight heat that is excruciating and exhilarating all at once, and Jon follows with a blissful shudder as Elias continues to thrust into him until his cock softens fully.

For a couple of seconds, Jon holds himself upright. In the stillness that follows, Elias can see his chest heave violently, lungs too constricted to draw in the air he needs. He catches Jon in his arms when he collapses with exhaustion. Holds Jon gently as he pants against his neck, running his fingers over the cassette tape that keeps him trapped.

When Jon’s breathing finally quiets and his body stills, Elias continues the statement for him.

_“By all means, it should have been a difficult choice. But to be honest, Jon, it wasn’t at all. I’d had my eye on you for a long time. I had been watching your work, your methods and results. How relentless you were in your search for knowledge. How capable you were of seeking it out. How drawn you were to things that could destroy you. How eager you were to experience and observe._

He caresses Jon’s cheek. Smiles as Jon props himself up, arms shaking slightly, so he can look Elias in the eye.

_“Your progress in such a short time has been most impressive,” _Elias says. “_You__’ve grown into your role so beautifully. I have no way of knowing how others would have fared in your position. But I can confidently say that I made the right choice in picking you as my Archivist, Jon.”_

“Statement ends,” Jon concludes for him, breathless against his lips, letting his eyes fall shut.

The cassette tape dissolves with a quiet crackling sound, burning up without heat and severing the connection to the Flesh with it, and Jon inhales deeply, wincing quietly as his chest expands with this first, painful breath.

Elias pulls away the corset from underneath Jon and draws him into his arms again. Gratified when Jon clings to him, unbound.

It doesn’t take long for his breaths to go slow and measured. Elias peers into his mind, a landscape of quiet contentment, all his focus simply on Elias, the hand that rests on Jon’s waist, the fingers that stroke through his hair to memorise its softness, the measured sound of Elias’ heartbeat against his cheek. The nightmares are already pushing in at the edges, and Elias anticipates them with rapturous dread, the luxury of experiencing his Archivist’s dreams again after so long.

But for now, he keeps him here, in his half-awake state, in this place where, even if just for the blink of an eye, he belongs to him alone.


End file.
